


Fearless

by berlynn_wohl



Category: Ghostbusters (Movies 1984-1989), Ghostbusters - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward Crush, F/M, First Time, No PIV Sex, Pegging, Strap-Ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:07:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23643595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: Janine blamed her taste in men on a childhood crush on Mr. Spock. Faced with such a cold, quietly thoughtful exterior, she couldn't help but wonder what passion might be just under the surface.
Relationships: Janine Melnitz/Egon Spengler
Comments: 9
Kudos: 49





	Fearless

**Author's Note:**

> I am quite certain that the particular *type* of device used in this fic did not exist in 1984...but I don't really care. We live in a post-caring-about-sex-toy-timelines world now, everyone. Just love yourselves.

1.

Never before had a woman carried a Crunch bar with more determination. As she ascended the stairs, Janine's heart was pounding in her chest in anticipation of what she was about to attempt. Thinking back on it later, perhaps she'd gotten herself far too worked up over a small, silly thing. But there was no convincing her of that now.

Once on the second floor, she strode past the sleeping quarters and the cluttered dining table to deposit a shopping bag on the meager counter space next to the refrigerator. The third floor had a full kitchen, but the boys had apparently deemed that room too far away from their laboratory-workshop, where they spent most of their waking hours. As Janine unpacked the bag of Hostess and Nabsico products, she recalled the first trip of this nature she had made upstairs, leery of kitchen appliances so close to strange machines and equipment, timidly inspecting the fridge to make sure it was a designated Food Refrigerator and not a Science Refrigerator (of course, over time, out of convenience, it would become both).

She placed the snacks half by feel, rather than by sight, as she was distracted by Egon, sitting in a chair and hunched over a low table, fiddling with some gadget or other. He had no objection to working at the dining table, but today, presumably, he had wanted to get right down to business, and not fuss with the mountain of take-out containers and candy wrappers piled atop it.

Janine was always vacillating between "these are grown men who can take care of their messes, I'm not their mother" and "it is my solemn duty to rescue these boys from their slovenly ways, after all, they're very busy doing important work." She blamed her mother for instilling the latter inclination in her. In this particular instance, though, she chose to see a small favor as a gesture of affection, not a housekeeper's task.

"I can clear this table for you if you like," Janine offered. "I hate to see you ruining your back like that."

Egon did not look up from his work, and hesitated before answering, as he did even when he was the only other person in the room. He seemed to always be waiting for Ray or Venkman to answer any questions put forth in his presence, and only when they turned out not to be there to fill the dead air with snark or chipper smugness did he offer a response.

"I'm fine, this should only take another ninety seconds. Unless it turns out to take four more hours."

Her offer thus refused, Janine paused to put an indignant hand on her hip, then folded the grocery bag and picked up the Crunch bar she had set aside. Several days of careful observation had led her to the conclusion that this was the food item she would have the most success with. She paused to listen for any sound coming from downstairs that might indicate that the other guys had returned from their errand, and hearing nothing, she brushed past the tiny sofa over to where Egon was sitting, and held out the Crunch bar. “Brought you something,” she said teasingly.

Egon looked up, first at the candy bar, then at her. He reached for it tentatively, as if he expected to be tempted with it and then have it snatched away. When he finally accepted it, it was without comment. Janine was disappointed to see no expression of affection or even gratitude, but she went forward with her follow-up gesture, which was to pat him on the shoulder with her other hand. In the fantasy she had replayed in her head many times beforehand, he had reached up to cover her hand with his own, perhaps even to grasp it in his long fingers; but in reality, his characteristic indifference remained utterly impenetrable. He set down his screwdriver and plucked the candy bar's paper wrapping away, so that he could unfold the foil beneath.

At this point, Janine believed that the most dignified thing she could do was walk away with an air of casual martyrdom. "You're welcome," she said, trying to make her heels click as much as possible as she made for the stairs, "and take a break while you eat it, why don't you, otherwise you'll get chocolate all over the...circuits or something." She made a large, dismissive gesture as she descended, in case he might possibly be looking at her.

When she was sure he was out of earshot, she sighed. For _that_ , she had worn her flirtiest pencil skirt and the kitten heels that pinched her.

  
  


2.

Janine hadn't always been a lovesick fool. And it wasn't like she didn't know, deep down, that she was going to have to try harder than that to get anywhere with Egon. She was smart, smart enough to know from her first day on the job who she was dealing with in that shoddy, repurposed firehouse. The guys all had big personalities; they kept no secrets from anyone who crossed their path – although even if they _were_ slick, she knew of no one could who could keep secrets from their secretary for very long.

Ray she had immediately placed in the "harmless" category. His naïve enthusiasm for his profession and his hobbies (which were often difficult to distinguish) kept him far too busy to ever give him time to chase her around a desk. And Venkman, well, obviously he was a predator, but he made it clear from the start that he preferred to make her the target of his goofy acidity. She was used to that. Though she'd met many a vivacious blonde seeking solidarity with her as they complained that men were indiscriminate hounds, Janine knew better. A stern, thin-lipped mouth and a sardonic gaze had stayed many a wandering hand, and though she had tried to become practiced at sultriness in her youth, she had long ago faced the facts: her voice was not exactly enticing either. These qualities of hers that put off men like Venkman, she was glad of them...until that rare, worthy man happened along that made her curse them.

Janine blamed her taste in men on a childhood crush on Mr. Spock. Were it not for that, her pulse would not have increased when she was introduced to Egon at the interview. Egon lacked the gift of gab and the desperate need to be the constant center of attention that defined Ray and Venkman, but his personality was just as instantly apparent and lacking in subtlety. To begin with, he did not shake hands. He never answered a question if Ray could answer it with more verve or Venkman could answer it with more wit. He was inexpert at making eye contact. He seemed to always be restraining himself from retiring to a corner with a calculator and a clipboard. He never seemed at ease, but rather possessed of a nose-to-the-grindstone determination to slog through the necessity of physical existence. And frankly, a lot of people would find all this off-putting, but for Janine, it was stirred something in her to be in the presence of someone who so badly wanted to broadcast their reticence and indifference to human emotion, when New York was otherwise an endless cycle of catcalling construction workers, hollering cabbies, and obnoxious subway punks.

But just like when she used to watch Mr. Spock in reruns, faced with such a cold, quietly thoughtful exterior, Janine couldn't help but wonder what passion might be just under the surface. It made Egon instantly irresistible to her, and when Venkman revealed to her that she had the job (by virtue of her being the only person who had responded to the oddly-worded and slightly foreboding ad in the classifieds), she chose to take that as a sign that she was meant to be near Egon. She never regretted that those Star Trek episodes had such a profound influence on her taste in men: the romantically oblivious intellectual types could be hard to get, but it was just that much more satisfying when she landed them. She liked being with serious men who deep down were big softies, because it was thrilling to have a secret, to be privy to information about a person that no one else had. She was determined to know these secrets about Egon.

Her efforts began with the classics; after all, they were classics for a reason. She brought her shorter skirts to the front of her closet, the ones she normally reserved for her few-and-far-between first dates. When the other guys walked by, she kept her legs tucked beneath her desk, but whenever Egon approached, she would come up with a reason for him to pause a moment, at which point she would swivel her chair ninety degrees in his direction, then cross her legs as she handed him some paperwork or small delivery.

This had no effect on his behavior or demeanor, but that did not deter her. Perhaps he was just not a leg man. Janine acknowledged that a better strategy might be to find out what he _did_ like: what pastimes he enjoyed, what subjects interested him, and play to those things. When she asked him direct (but harmless and professional) questions about his life, he seemed to always be waiting for Venkman to interject with some quip, before he answered her with utter seriousness. And those answers, while never evasive, were maddening for their very forthrightness. For instance: being in a television commercial was in fact not glamorous at all, he told her flatly when she expressed curiosity, leaning forward with her fingers interlaced under her chin, making a show of giving him the undivided female attention all men seemed to crave. The lights were very hot and he didn't understand why it was such a big deal that he kept missing the place he was told to stand. So: being the object of attention, either through the television or from just across her desk, seemed meaningless to him.

She kept on anyway, trying to make it into a conversation. “Oh, yeah, that would be unpleasant. I'd hate to be under hot lights and sweating on camera, how embarrassing!”

Egon replied, “I've spent the past several years studying voluntary thermoregulation techniques. I don't sweat.” Janine was stunned silent, and he wandered away.

She tried to take her thwarted efforts in stride; after all, even if she seemed to be getting no closer to a reciprocation of interest, each chance to talk to Egon was a chance to enjoy his unconventional handsomeness, to imagine the sternness of it softening under the influence of desire. If they were standing, she could admire his height: he was nearly a foot taller than her, which delighted her. (She was five-foot-three, so it was lucky that she liked men who were taller than her, because nearly all of them were, even when she wore heels. Perhaps she liked it because she could smirk at the fact that being so much taller gave men the idea that they were the ones in charge, a delusion that made them easier to deal with.) And unlike other tall-but-cerebral men she had known, Egon was not at all spindly or weedy. She'd once tried lifting one of those backpacks the guys wore to do their exterminating business, and you had to be _strong_ if you were going to carry one of those. She liked that, liked that Egon might, beneath those frumpy sweater-vests, be secretly robust. If only she could figure out how to pry him from his intellectual carapace, so that she might get a chance to find out.

  
  


3.

In those early days, when business was slow, Janine would take the opportunity sometimes when the guys were out and she was alone to call her mother. When she asked, as mothers always do, if Janine was seeing anyone, she couldn't help but confess, "There's a man here, he's sort of my boss..."

She wouldn't dare admit this to her friends, as they would never approve. It wasn't so much that it was unethical as it was "tacky" – a far worse crime. Her mother had no such compunction, however: seeing as Janine had failed to land a husband in college when she was supposed to, it was only right that she now use the workplace as a matchmaking service. And so when Janine revealed her infatuation with her supervisor, all her mother wanted to know was, "Is he Jewish?"

It wasn't that this hadn't occurred to her to wonder about, but her mother's perpetual insistence on knowing such things made her wince. She fidgeted with her pen. "I think so."

"You think so? Well, what's his _name_?"

"Spengler."

Her mother did not out-and-out deny that this was Jewish name, but she also apparently could not confirm it. She scoffed, "Whoever heard of a Spengler?"

"Whoever heard of a Melnitz, Ma?" Janine snapped. What did it matter, anyway? This was her mother talking, the woman who scolded her for routinely eating shrimp only because a _good_ Jew ate shrimp only on Christmas Day, in a Chinese restaurant. She could have countered that Egon was a doctor, but she feared that her mother's enthusiasm would swing so far in the other direction that it would be doubly irritating.

But while her mother's obsession with her finding the "right" man to settle down with annoyed her, Janine found herself as the years went by increasingly seeing her point. She had done her very best for fourteen years to prove that she was a modern, independent woman, capable of earning her own money and making her own way in the world, and she had done perfectly well at it. Now that she was thirty-two, surely she had earned the right to entertain a little fantasy of having a tall, competent man around that she could depend on a little?

"Ma, I've gotta go, the guys are back from their job," she said, which was a lie; she just wanted to put the phone down, and dwell on this thought a little bit, to summon the inspiration she needed to carry on her fretfully one-sided courtship.

That was when she had come up with the idea to bribe Egon for attention with his favorite candy bar. And though that effort eventually turned out to be a bust, she was not finished yet.

Her next opportunity came later in the week, when Egon paused next to her desk on his way upstairs. She turned attentively in his direction, only to find that he remained half turned away from her, having stopped only to deal with a smudge on his glasses that he must have grown tired of dealing with. He took them off and began to clean them with the hem of his sweater-vest. Seizing her chance, she sprang to her feet and said, "Wait, don't do that." Fumbling in her purse under his bewildered, myopic gaze, she at last managed to retrieve from her purse a fine, lint-free cloth, the one she used to clean her own glasses. She stood as close to him as she felt she could get away with, then gently plucked his glasses out of his hand, and began to wipe the lenses down with the cloth, her head tilted down, nearly touching his chest. She kept at it for some time longer than was necessary, using her thumbnail to press the cloth into the corners and hinges, and excused her glacial slowness by talking during it. "That wool is only going to scratch the lenses up. This is a much better way to treat them." When she was finished, she looked up at him and smiled coquettishly – only to realize that he probably could not see it, as she was still holding his glasses. Moving with great care so as to avoid any mishaps, she lifted the glasses, pinching the temples with the earpieces facing him, and placed them on his face, making sure the earpieces were securely settled before gently dropping the bridge onto his nose. Then she tried the seductive smile again.

He looked right back at her, not intensely but with what she was sure was curiosity. He did not leer, look her up and down, or smile wolfishly back, but he also took at least three and a half seconds before he broke eye contact in a shy, maladroit way, and those three and a half seconds were absolute _heaven_. She got to take a swim in those deep brown eyes, and even if the earnestness in them was not necessarily impassioned, she reveled in it nonetheless.

"Thanks," he said. He looked away and seemed to find something on the floor completely fascinating for a moment before making his way upstairs.

This tiny, practically microscopic success was not only encouraging in and of itself, it felt to her like the culmination of all her efforts. She wanted to believe that everything she had done up to this point had resulted in this moment of connection, that she had never been a fool at all.

  
  


4.

After that, every moment that Janine found herself in Egon's presence was fraught with suspense. If they found themselves alone, would he finally give in and reveal his mutual attraction? Perhaps whisking her into some corner or disused room where they could have some privacy for a frantic encounter? Alternately, if someone else was present, would he flash her a knowing, mischievous look? A little secret glance they could share with sly smiles on their faces?

None of this happened.

But one evening, just when it was about time for her to shut her Harold Robbins paperback and put on her sneakers for the walk home, ECTO-1 pulled into the garage, and the guys emerged, each of them looking the worse for wear and clutching a bag of take-out. They walked past her in turn to head up the stairs in exhausted silence. Egon was the last, and as he passed her desk he unceremoniously dropped a bag on her ink blotter. Janine opened the bag and peered inside: it was lamb shawarma, her favorite. She looked up to thank him, but he was already going up the stairs, not looking back to see her reaction.

She waited until she heard the familiar creaking of the pipes, as all three showers upstairs were utilized, then made her way up to the kitchen. If she walked home now, the shawarma would be greasy-cold by the time she was ready to eat it. Better to just have it here, while it was still warm. She cleared a spot at the table and sat. She was facing the pole, and she smiled to herself, thinking of the scrunched-up expression of terror that was always on Egon's face when he slid down it. He didn't care for it at all as a method of descent, but he utilized it with Ray and Venkman every time the alarm sounded, rather than take the stairs. Her belief was that it was a gesture of solidarity. This idea was appealing to her, because it was proof that he was willing to go along with something silly and a little perilous – as if his being a Ghostbuster were not already proof of that.

About the time she finished eating, Ray and Venkman had collapsed on their beds, while Egon walked past his bunk and back out into the workshop. His hair was damp and he wore fresh, clean clothes. Janine crumpled up her bag and stood up – if she was going to say anything, she'd have to say it now, before he became absorbed in some experiment.

"Egon, um," she said, her eyes darting all around with nervousness. "I didn't mean to stay this late, and its started getting dark early again, you know...and there have been so many muggings around here, it's got me all frazzled..." To her surprise, he had paused, and seemed to be giving her his full attention while she babbled. She wrung her hands a little for effect. "...Anyway, I was wondering if maybe you could walk me home? Just this once?"

As always, Egon let a brief silence unfold before answering. Janine cringed, expecting her blatant come-on to be rejected. At last, he said, "Let me get my coat."

She followed him down to the lockers, grinning like mad and resisting the urge to punch the air in triumph lest he catch sight of her doing it. This might have been a small victory – who could tell if he would be affronted by any further requests she made of him tonight? – but she could not help all the little anticipatory fantasies that suddenly flooded her imagination. The gears were turning now in her mind, and she could barely get down the stairs without tripping over her own two feet, she was so thoroughly engrossed in deciding how she might secure the most thoroughly depraved victory this evening. While considering one possible path, she silently thanked all the forces of destiny for having made sure she currently had a very short, no-nonsense manicure.

  
  


5.

The walk to her apartment was entirely uneventful, as she expected, It wasn't like Janine was actually afraid of muggers anyway. Didn't she work for three mad scientists? You had to be fearless to do that. To pass the time on their journey, she said to Egon, "I'm sorry I took you away from your work. Was it something interesting?"

He gave her a curt, half-a-sentence answer, to which she replied, "Tell me more." He slowly began to recount a line of thinking he'd been pursuing lately, about more efficient ways to store psychokinetic energy, perhaps even ways to channel it into some useful purpose. She didn't understand a lot of the words he was using, but that was fine, she was always happy just to hear his rich baritone voice. After being prompted once more by her, he went on, and on and on, his monologue fluid and animated, much moreso than she'd ever seen him. She could tell that he didn't get the opportunity to lecture like this very often, that no one ever really encouraged him to indulge in sharing his interests; even Ray and Venkman would interrupt him, fight for the room's attention, pile on their thoughts and ideas to make sure no one forgot they were geniuses too. Janine couldn't help but wonder what more he would reveal if allowed to just be himself, without hindrance. Could he ever be joyful, adventurous? Was there an unselfconsciously playful person hiding somewhere inside him? Did he ever enjoy just being unproductive and unanalytical for a while, taking the time to feel pleasure? The very thought of these things had her grinning as they talked, and she felt like she walking on air the whole way.

When they reached her building, they paused. It crossed her mind to use the old line, "Do you want to come up for a cup of coffee," but it just didn't seem appropriate to try it on him; it was too corny, too wink-wink-we-all-know-what's-going-on-here. "If you don't mind," she said instead, putting on her fearful façade once more, "just up to my door?"

"Of course," he said.

A fourth-floor walkup was nothing out of the ordinary in New York, but she filled the long, awkward silence, otherwise broken only by their puffs of breath, by remarking, "'Pre-war charm' was what the ad said. Ha!"

At her door, she had run out of coy fibs, and so just asked, "Would you like to come in?" After all, wouldn't that be the most efficient way to find out if he was in on her ploy? If he truly considered his task complete here, and found the idea of returning to his lab more appealing, he would just refuse, in his matter-of-fact way, wouldn't he?

But he didn't. He said, "Yes." It was an oddly flat "Yes" for this situation, devoid of wry knowingness, but it was firm and clear. She fumbled with her three locks and two deadbolts, laughing nervously and not bothering to try to excuse her shaking hands.

Once inside, she watched as Egon's eyes swept the room, and she became suddenly self-conscious; as much as she had dreamed of this scenario, she hadn't exactly prepared for it that day. At least there were no nylons hung up to dry, but even at its best, what Janine had done to give her apartment a feeling of coziness now made it seem cluttered and cramped: hanging lamps, busy artwork, little plants here and there. She had no idea what Egon's taste in interior decor was, but she couldn't imagine it was this.

Her embarrassment could not stop her, however, from putting on her hostess schtick: "Well, this is where the party's at," she chuckled half-heartedly, and gestured to her meager few hundred square feet. "Would you like the grand tour?"

"I'm mainly interested in seeing the bedroom," he deadpanned. Her heart leapt into her throat.

She was now, funnily enough, more uncertain then ever. Every step towards the bedroom increased her fear that he would not be interested in, or would be repulsed by, the things she liked to do in bed. She knew her tastes in lovemaking were even more unconventional than her taste in men – ever since she was fourteen and had gotten her hands on a clandestine copy of _Tropic Of Cancer_ , she had known she wanted something very different than...than _that_. It had been a long journey from there to the woman she was today, and she took for granted sometimes that it all only seemed fine and fun to her because she'd had years to get accustomed to her own esoteric desires. The men she encountered got thrown in the deep end.

But with Egon, she wondered if she wanted to risk it. She was too fond of him to be blasé about the possibility of him rejecting her. But if she consigned herself to normal, boring things just to secure a man's companionship, even this man's, what kind of life would that be? No, she had to give it a shot. She couldn't stand the thought of seducing him after all this time and then doing something dull and conventional.

Rather than flick on the overhead light, she fumbled around by the nightstand for a second until she located a switch on a cord, and turned on the string of Christmas lights over her headboard. "Ta-da!" she said, self-consciously. Once again, she reevaluated the whole room based on how she suspected Egon might feel about it, starting with the corny ambient lighting. The bed was unmade, the sheets rumpled, and some dresser drawers hung half-open. She practically lunged to close them. "Hah, I wasn't expecting anyone. Your company is a pleasant surprise."

There wasn't anything else about the room she could improve in a hurry. Here they stood, and he wasn't making a move of his own. She took his hand as she sat on the bed, encouraging him to sit as well. Her hand moved to rest lightly on his chest. "Can I help you get more comfortable?"

"I don't see why not," he said.

She liked that attitude.

He was just cooperative enough to not be a hindrance as, one article of clothing at a time, she undressed him. He raised his arms when she lifted the hem of his sweater-vest, and might have helped with one or two of his shirt buttons. She went slowly, eager to see all of him but determined to savor this moment that she had so longed for. She was delighted with everything she uncovered, lingering over the slight swell of his biceps, running her fingers through the hair on his chest. He was no Adonis, but he was himself, which was the most alluring. Everything else about him was extraordinary, and so this was too, by virtue of it being his. The only hitch in her bliss was the shoes-and-socks part. There was no way to do that sexily, she had determined long ago. Untying a guy's shoelaces, removing his socks, that put the brakes on things worse than having to stop to put on a condom. But when it was done, the trousers could go, so one just had to power through it, hm?

When she sat up again, to do just that, they locked eyes for a moment, and she froze. Giddy with anticipation, she couldn't help but giggle, and then something astonishing happened: he smiled back at her. She'd gotten used to the way he was, had lost any expectation of seeing such a thing, but now she basked in it like sunshine. This was really happening. It warmed her suddenly to realize that perhaps Egon might be enjoying that feeling that she so readily did without – being the _object_ of desire. Maybe this was the first time anyone had been so eager to get him out of his clothes. Well, if it was, she hoped he was ready for a whole lot more attention than this, an avalanche of it, because it was coming.

Grinning back at him, she put a hand on his shoulder and gently pressed him down to the mattress. Then that hand slid down, until she could grasp the waistband of his trousers. With her other hand, she unzipped them, and before she could slow herself, she yanked them and his briefs down in one go, far enough that she could then caress his hard thighs, and watch how it made his cock jerk. He had a nice one, very shapely – size did not concern her, at least not at the moment. His breaths were rapid and ragged, his muscles twitching with the nervousness that came with being utterly exposed. She understood. Only after she'd looked her fill did she slide his remaining clothes the rest of the way off, tossing them on the floor.

When it was her turn to get undressed, she scooted just out of his reach, choosing to go about it herself, and in a much more quick and efficient way than she had seen to him. For this part, she became self-conscious again, partly about removing her tights – you just couldn't make it look sexy, not like if you were unfastening a garter belt and stockings – and partly about the marks on her body that her clothes left, where they had dug into her flesh. She hoped the little pink indentations were not so obvious in the low light. She knew it was silly of her to be anxious over something that men probably didn't even notice, and anyway, she wasn't really offering her body for his enjoyment, for ogling or fondling – that didn't interest her. She was interested in _him_ , and the things she could do to him.

He seemed to get the hint, and at first did not attempt to touch her, just watched. When she was down to just her underwear, she came forward on her knees a little, and he turned onto his side and reached for her at last, slipping his hand between her thighs, stroking her. She knew he could feel that she was already wet. If it were some other guy, she might not have appreciated such an impulsive groping, but in this case, she was charmed by his lack of restraint. It felt, at last, like the collision of two passionate people. She tipped her head back and enjoyed his light stroking. How much of this gesture was his desire for her, and how much was a kind of scientific curiosity, she did not know, nor did she particularly care.

When he withdrew his hand she felt bereft – but just for a moment, before he made it clear that he was only drawing back far enough to plunge his hand beneath the fabric, and feel her bare flesh. She was so aroused at this point that any fumbling grab would probably still have done it for her, but his fingers had a enchanting inquisitiveness that made her feel light-headed. Her wetness made it easy for him to explore, and when he found the center of her, he slipped one finger inside with no resistance.

After gasping at the pleasant shock, she breathed, "Put another one in." He wiggled another finger inside, and she hummed with satisfaction – two always felt better than one, fuller.

She held up her hand. "Now go like this," she said, and curled her fingers in a come-hither gesture. After a moment's hesitation, he lifted his left hand, and imitated her. She laughed, "No, with the fingers inside me, silly!"

Her laugh turned to a moan when he got it right. Bolts of pleasure shot through her belly and down her thighs, making her knees weak. She leaned down and put her hand on his shoulder to steady herself, finding a rhythm, rocking her hips. But soon, the novelty of it wore off, and she wanted something more.

She held his wrist to still his hand, then gently encouraged him to remove his fingers – slow. She reached out and removed his glasses, setting them respectfully aside so they wouldn't get knocked around or crushed. From here on out he wouldn't be able to see what she was doing very clearly, but she felt this might be for the best. She returned her hand to his shoulder, pushing him down onto his back once more, then shimmied out of her underwear.

She scooted forward, and he tentatively reached out for her with both hands, ready to welcome her onto his lap, onto his cock, but he did not understand her intentions. She planted one knee between his, then squeezed the other in, and continued to nudge at his thighs until he got the idea that she not only wanted to sit between his legs, she wanted him to _spread_ them.

Truth be told, she wasn't crazy about this next part of her plan, the blowjob part; penises in general were of secondary interest to her, truth be told. Oh, they were fine, they could even be great on occasion, but men were way too focused on them. It was good for them to be taught a lesson (by her) about what potential for pleasure there was hidden elsewhere in their bodies. But she appreciated blowjobs because they were pretty easy, and useful for the way they made men pliant – one might even say _suggestible_. She bent down between Egon's spread legs and took him in her mouth. She did not have to feign reverence or enthusiasm, not really. She worked on him for a few minutes, giving it her all and extracting a few little noises of pleasure, before retreating, slowly, and then making a quick dive for her nightstand drawer. He raised his head in inquiry, but she assumed he could not see what she had just grabbed, and when she returned to her position and resumed her task, he settled back again for a while.

She popped the cap on the tube and squeezed a generous amount of lube onto her fingers, going by feel in the space under her as she continued swirling her tongue around the head of his cock in an expert, if rote, manner. Then she dropped the tube, and with her free hand began to stroke his perineum, enjoying the way his sighs went up in pitch ever so slightly. He was not expecting to be touched there. She waited until she felt the lube start to dribble down the fingers of her other hand, having been warmed to body temperature, then with her other hand gently cupped his balls to his body, and slid her slick fingers down until she found the right spot. She didn't plunge in right away, but waited there, circling, wanting to give him time to object. He didn't quite, but he did ask, "What are you doing?" This made her chuckle around his cock, as he was not in the habit of asking questions to which the answer was obvious.

She pulled off and, her lower lip still brushing his cock, said, "What you were doing to me feels just as good when I do it to you, didn't you know that?" With that, she continued to lick and kiss his glans, so that he would associate that good, obvious feeling with the strange and unfamiliar feeling of being penetrated by her fingers.

She didn't waste any time when she got in there; she knew she had to hit the sweet spot very quickly to eliminate any uncertainty or inhibition he may still have been harboring. And when she found it, boy was it clear: his thighs jerked, his stomach tightened, and he groaned in a new and very exciting way.

She enjoyed doing this, and could happily do it as long as her wrist held out, but she paused when she was tired of the blowjob part. She sat up and slid her fingers out with care. He lifted his head again, and she said, "I'll be right back, don't worry."

What she did next, she did not do with just any man she got involved with. To be sure, she always _considered_ it, weighing a man's potential for it the way another woman might weigh whether or not a man was promising enough to shave her legs for before a date. In the case of this particular man, Janine was convinced to give it a shot by a combination of faith that his receptiveness to being penetrated so far was solid, and blind fear that this might be her only shot at it. If she had just one night, one opportunity, and didn't take this chance, she would regret it forever. This was why she left Egon's side for just a moment, just long enough to return to the nightstand. This time she came back with a solid, somewhat L-shaped object, too big to fit in the palm of her hand. He squinted. "What is that?"

She held the thing up, thinking it fortunate that he couldn't really see it clearly, see the fine details of it. She pointed to the half of it that was more stylized, curved and shapely, like an abstract sculpture. "Well, this part goes in me..." she began, and demonstrated, spreading her knees and aiming the tip if it. She was so ridiculously wet, it went right in, and she squeaked as it slid into the proper position. Now, jutting from her body at a ninety-degree angle, was a modestly-sized facsimile of a penis, looking much more like a real one than its counterpart inside her: it had a shaft that curved gently upward, a ridged crown, and a glans that sloped into a slightly narrower tip. She gestured to it, with a sweep of her hand like a model in a game show, and concluded, "...and this part goes in you."

She could tell by the look on his face that his trepidation was tempered with curiosity: he was naturally intimidated by the idea, but the genius-from-Mars in him nonetheless wanted to get a closer look at the thing. She picked up the lube again, then took his hand and pulled him close to her as she reclined on the pillows piled against her headboard. Resorting to his sense of touch, he reached out and gripped what she now had between her legs. He must have felt its realism then, but also the fact that it was smaller than his own, and not even any wider than her two fingers had been.

She manhandled him a little bit (which she in no way considered a burden), grabbing and hauling him until he was where she wanted him: upright and straddling her thighs. He towered over her now, seeming bigger and taller than ever compared to her, which she adored. The more physically large and powerful the man, the more satisfying it was to do this. "We can stop any time you say so," she assured him, "but this is going to feel good, better than my fingers." That had always been her experience with being penetrated, anyway: fingers were so...poky.

She drizzled lube over the shaft of his cock, then spread it around with one hand while she did the same to her own with the other. Then she grabbed his hip, guiding him down, while holding the toy behind the head and aiming it. When it was just barely seated in the place it needed to go, she instructed him to lower himself at his own pace, and to jerk himself off while he did so: "It'll help you relax," she said.

Then, for a few minutes, he was making all the effort, and she could sit back and enjoy his proximity, his size and strength. She watched the tendons in is arm as he squeezed himself, his abs tightening every time he groaned, his chest rising and falling with each gasp of shock, as he sank down and was penetrated more and more deeply. When he had settled himself fully, she grabbed his ass and encouraged him to rock back and forth – there would be time for bouncing and thrusting later, but for now she thought it prudent to just encourage him to rotate his hips, so that she could move inside him in subtle ways, though they would not feel subtle at all to him.

Once he got the hang of it, she took the opportunity to caress him everywhere she could reach, down his thighs, up his arms, over his chest. She looked up, and caught him looking down at the same time, and her mouth opened involuntarily, just a little, at this sudden, intense eye contact. He whimpered and looked away, which was at once disappointing and satisfying. He was embarrassed, but he was still letting her do this to him – to both of them, to be completely accurate: the toy was inside her, too, moving the way he moved, stimulating her, like an electric current travelling through both their bodies. But even then, the weight of the thing inside her was almost an afterthought, she was so wrapped up in his pleasure and how he was expressing it. Gradually, he forgot to be embarrassed, and moved with perfect rhythm, tilting forward or back, treating himself to the feeling of fullness from various angles. He seemed hesitant to pause even when the lube began to get sticky and needed refreshing. He only stopped stroking his cock, letting it bounce, stiff and heavy, his pleasure fully on display.

She patted his thigh to get his attention. "Alright, you've been working very hard. Let's switch, it's my turn to do the work now."

What happened next was a veritable acrobatic feat, as Janine nudged Egon to lean back, while she leaned forward. With some effort, she held his hips while she got her legs under her, and slowly moved into a position where she was between his legs and on top of him, without disengaging. She planted a hand on either side of his arms and made one slow thrust, getting him used to the idea all over again. This was the first thrust that he wasn't in control of, and it clearly brought to him a second time the novelty of being penetrated. And it was thrilling for her, feeling his body beneath her, giving way to the toy, to the girth of it.

When things were settled, she grabbed the lube and, on the outstroke, squeezed more first onto her cock, then onto his. Satisfied with how slick and easy things were again, she began to work him in more and more powerful strokes, until she was plowing him with abandon, squeezing her pelvic floor muscles to keep the toy secure, using the curve of it to hit his sweet spot. As he resumed stroking himself, he seemingly instinctively lifted his legs, which gave her better access and also clearly changed the angle in a way that was extremely favorable for him. She adored this: she never felt a man's body shake like this when _he_ was inside _her_ . She'd never heard a man make noises so vulnerable and unhinged in any other circumstance. There was no other way to coax this depth of feeling out of a man, she was sure of it. And that was why she did this: her satisfaction had never come from feeling desirable, or being _taken_. To her, what was truly intoxicating was the power of seeing a man unraveled – and the more straight-laced he was when clothed and upright, the more gratifying it was to make him cry out in bliss with his heels pointed at the ceiling.

A final hard shudder overcame him, shook them both, and his strokes suddenly slowed, as he ejaculated powerfully over his belly and chest. With that, his full-throated moans turned to soft, helpless whimpering. As for herself: the bend of the toy was shaped to give her some clitoral stimulation (so the box had claimed), but it didn't do it the way she needed in order to finish, so she shoved her fingers beneath the curve of it and rubbed herself to an ecstatic peak, the final celebration of her glorious conquest.

She looked down, finding him beautifully relaxed, completely sated. His eyes were glassy and distant, all their calculating inquisitive coldness gone, fucked away, at least for a little while. His mouth hung slightly open in a charmingly undignified way. With each rise and fall of his chest, he uttered a soft whimper of exhalation. A sheen of sweat made his temples glisten and his chest glow in the twinkling lights.

"I thought you didn't sweat," she quipped.

"Some things were happening that made it difficult to concentrate," he admitted.

She sighed as the strain on her thighs and arms finally broke through. Now it was time for the awkward part, the part where she realized what a mess they both were. Lube was smeared all over the place, and as for the toy, there was really no cool, sexy way to take it out. She went slow, at least, trying to be merciful to this man who had been so kind as to let her put it in him in the first place. As she drew away from him, he reached out and grabbed her wrist, like he wanted to keep her close. It was so assertive, so endearingly possessive, and it squeezed her heart.

She tugged the toy out of her own body, wincing, and set it aside. She settled at his side with her legs curled half under her, and said, "Do you want to take a shower together, or one at a time?"

His usual pause before answering questions was particularly drawn-out this time. At last, he said, "I'm having trouble determining which is optimal."

She tapped him lightly on the forehead. "It'll all come back to you, don't worry. I'm sure I didn't do any permanent damage."

"I'm wondering if my current intellectual capacity reflects that of a typically libidinous human. In which case, the state of the world makes a lot more sense."

"Could be," Janine said with a shrug.

She excused herself to the bathroom for a moment, and returned with clean hands and a glass of water, which she offered to him. He sat up just enough to gulp it down, and she tenderly stroked his forehead. "So, what made you change your mind?"

Egon laid back down, and pressed the cold bottom of the glass to the center of his chest. "About what?"

"You ignored me from day one, then suddenly you take me up on my obviously fake plea for protection, and then walk right into my bedroom and let me do whatever I want to you. Why?"

He blinked. His gaze was coming back into focus, myopia or no. "You seemed like you had a secret," he said, "and I decided I wanted to know what it was."

Janine smirked at this flawless response. She asked, "Are you glad you found out?"

Egon hummed softly, as his head lolled gently from side to side, conveying what seemed at first a startling uncertainty. Then he said, "Insufficient data. I'd like to run several more tests, if I could."

She laughed. That was just the kind of talk that had made her fall for him in the first place.


End file.
